Remember
Published in Issue #31 Translated from Hebrew by Yaron Regev subscribe to unlock the full storyI remember Mom crying in the kitchen. She says, “Yoni, we’re so stupid. Why did we agree?” He answers her quietly so I can’t hear. I remember the smell of laundry and cooking. Dad made Chinese, with peppers and candied pecans.
We go into my Mom’s house. It’s bigger than she needs. And the grandchildren don’t sleep over there anymore. Mine are too big. Nir’s are just the right age, but after covid, we agreed she is too old for that now. We have stopped counting on her, started calling her more, coming over more. We have urged her to give up the car and the driving. She, for her part, has stopped telling us where she is going and when. She fights for her independence like old people do. My kids talk to her in that pitying tone that breaks my heart – as if they’re already saying goodbye. But today she looks fine. She hugs me. She smells like laundry and caramel. Which is why I remember that time she cried. Probably.
When Nir walks in with the kids, I feel a throb of fear and longing deep in my stomach. I’m familiar with it. It happens to me a lot. Every time something good happens, it scares me. I etch this moment deep into my memory, miss it even as it happens, because there are places you can never go back to. I had a therapist once, a decent psychologist, who said it is one of the soul’s defense mechanisms,...
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